A Disillusionment with Blooming
by Nanaho-Hime
Summary: Pansy Parkinson never gets the chance to bloom. She wonders if she'll ever be worth more than a trophy wife. Her rehabilitation officer seems to think so. SeamusPansy friendship, slight PansyBlaise For the Dictionary Divine Challenge


A Disillusionment with Blooming

By Nanaho-Hime

For bookwormofmassiveproportion's Dictionary Divine Challenge

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter

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Pansy Parkinson has never possessed aristocratic beauty. She does not have a refined air about her, no high cheek bones, no button nose. She has a square jaw line and hard eyes and there is nothing to suggest that she is even remotely graceful.

Pansy Parkinson has harsh beauty to match her sharp tongue. Despite her every attempt, she never does fit into the pureblood world of frills and gossip, though she most certainly likes to pretend she was born to thrive there.

At the bar, as she works on her fourth shot of firewhiskey, she is bitter. The prime of her life, the swirl of frills and pseudo friends, and complete control are thrown out the window in the aftermath of the war. She is despised by the majority of people who know her, and when people hear her name they sneer, pompous toe-rags that they are, and make the subtlest of comments. Comments that are easily translated into 'so you're the Slytherin slag'.

_You didn't seem to mind it when you were ass kissing back at Hogwarts._

She feels so incredibly foolish, but above all, astringent. It's almost too pathetic when you're at your prime at fifteen.

It is unbelievable, how low she sinks after Draco makes it perfectly clear that he was never really serious about her. She doesn't know where to go from there because she had spent her entire life molding herself to be the next Mrs. Malfoy, trying so ridiculously hard to be the gossiping, elegant aristocrat that was expected of a Malfoy.

It is no surprise when he chooses Astoria Greengrass. She is blonde, cute, button nose, freckles, so, very elegant and everything else Pansy's not. Pansy's antithesis really, where Pansy is hard, and passionate Astoria is soft and reserved.

No matter how hard she tries, Pansy will never be a trophy wife.

She is listless come post-war; she loses the confidence and self-worth and purpose she had once possessed. Every night she dresses in all her sexy little dresses, the tight red one, the little black one, the lilac one with no back, and she hits every bar in Wizarding London, and when she gets kicked out she stumbles into muggle bars and gets kicked out of those too.

She doesn't care anymore.

Her rehabilitation officer pities her, and that's saying something considering his name is Seamus Finnegan. In the aftermath, the new ministry assigns rehabilitation officers to former Slytherins who no longer have direction in life.

Initially, Seamus had been exceedingly disdainful and she had been arrogant and proud. It is a tribute to her pitiful state that even he begins to feel sorry for her.

"You know, Parkinson," he watches her hunch over a beer, a muggle drink with intoxicating qualities. She has grown rather fond of it.

"You could do so much better than Malfoy."

Pansy's vision is blurring, and she doesn't really believe him, "Sure I could, I'm the slag of Slytherin House."

Seamus shakes his head, "You're just hot as hell, but you don't act like you want any, that intimidates guys."

She snorts, and takes another swig of her beer.

"You're not a very good rehabilitation officer."

"Don't I know it, tried to tell them they needed to rehabilitate me first."

She tosses back her mane of dark hair and laughs. She is wearing her backless lilac dress today, and she's feeling particularly reckless.

"I'm a loser Finnegan."

"Why? Cause you're not Mrs. Malfoy? I think you got lucky."

"No, because no one wants me and no one ever will."

She cannot stand the look on his face. His mouth is slightly open and he looks surprised, uncomfortable, as though he has no idea how to comfort her. It surprises her that he wants to comfort her, but she dismisses it as effects of the alcohol.

"Let's go to a club Finnegan, muggles are particularly adept at creating lewd dance music."

He remains in the booth, and she sighs and settles back into the seat.

"Don't take it so seriously, Finnegan."

"You shouldn't go saying things like that, you're going to find a guy who's nuts about you."

She shakes her head at his Gryffindor pity. One of the best things about Slytherins is that there is no such thing as pity. If you are a disgrace you are mocked and jeered and ostracized, but you can always fight back. She can't fight back his pity.

"You're such a sentimentalist."

"I wasn't supposed to tell you this, but Zabini's crazy about you, told me not to try and poison you before he got to you first."

She snorts again, and sways slightly.

"Oh yes, Zabini the womanizer is madly in love with me because he wants to get into my pants, that makes perfect sense."

Seamus shakes his head, "It's a guy thing, you wouldn't understand."

They are silent.

"You know, I think it's stupid, that people name their kids after flowers."

He is surprised by the change in topic, but he leans toward her, "Why is that?"

"Flowers bloom and wilt in a short span of time, they're short-lived and weak and they're nothing but pretty," she spits out the word pretty like it's a vile word, "I never want my child to be pretty and weak."

He grins, "You're right, it doesn't suit you, suits Malfoy better."

And they laugh and she wonders if maybe one day she will get rehabilitated enough to believe that she is worth a little more than a gossiping, frilly trophy wife.

"Tell me Finnegan, am I ugly?"

He rolls his eyes because it's such a female thing to ask, "Yeah, you're hideous."

"I specifically remember being compared to a pug."

"Nah, you just act like one."

She laughs again, because it feels good to laugh in her drunken stupor, because she knows she never laughs when she's sober. She's bitter and sarcastic, and it stings like hell when she thinks about how she was left behind.

Seamus is laughing too, because the whiskey's starting to get to him, and he's sitting in a muggle bar with Pansy Parkinson, of all people, and he likes it, by Merlin, he likes it.

She is insufferable ninety nine percent of the time; he despises her for her Slytherin slyness and her cowardice during the war and her cruelty under the Carrows.

But there's something terrible when she's broken and beautiful like this in her lilac dress, and he's her rehabilitation officer and he's got no idea how to rehabilitate someone so far gone.

"You were never meant to be a follower, Parkinson."

"I know."

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A/N: this really isn't meant to be a pairing fic, but you can look at it that way if you want…I just kind of used the words as inspiration, I didn't really use them in the fic…hope that's okay.

I'm thinking of writing a companion piece to this with Zabini and Seamus's conversation about Pansy.

Yay?Nay?

Reviews would be love 


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